top of page
Image by Utsman Media


I was a waiter, awaiting

my future life, on 

her first holiday to Turkey

I met my second wife...

I was dark and deep

with mystery and she....I watched

the curve of her hips as she danced,

whilst I waited on her every word.

Our glances, like lazers 

cut through the night and later

she held me in her arms,

whiter than the sand we lay upon,

and I cried – so recently widowed.

The guilt of such pleasure

so soon – as sweet as figs,

as potent as Raki. 

She carried me away 

From all that was familiar,

a soothing, healing journey

into hills and rain 

that burned with my tears.

I carried my children

from their sunny clime,

we married and our lives

became entwined, full of hope

for better times, they

never arrived.

Impotent.. I cannot 

take care of my children,

my wife. She has a son

who went astray

a real valleys boy, they say

he started young

small fights at first, small jobs,

small drugs, which grew bigger

and harder with age.

He sits in the middle, in between,

on the recently re-sprung settee,

breaking all the boundaries

of decency. His talk, so dirty...

calls me names, I'm no good.

Says I'm filthy, I don't wash,

he plays games... when 

the social worker visits -

he talks tidy – they believe him.

I am so tired, working

all night in the factory, 

returning to smoke filled gloom

scattered with disorder,

uncontrollable chaos,

a selection of narcotics spread out

across the coffee tables amongst

my children's homework.
I take them for a walk – to the lake

I take them to the clean air

and I listen to their strange accents,

whispering to each other.

Trying to hold my anger inside - 

stop myself from exploding,

I throw glass bottles at the walls

late at night when I'm alone.

She begs...

“Don't mess this up now babes,

your visa's due this month.

They'll send you back they will

just need a good excuse!”

I try to grasp those moments on the beach,

to pull myself back from despair.... but

how can I accept her child, who changes

her shiny blue eyes to black -

who breaks her heart – from school

to prison in two short years.

Forgiveness is natural for a mother but

not for me, her husband who had

so many dreams of his own,

new shoots he planted in this

green, green garden of Eden....

and so I smoke and wait....

for things to change.          

bottom of page